


tense.

by tondr



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 17:12:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17902193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tondr/pseuds/tondr





	tense.

You have swings of opposition clanging against their rugged resentment.

You have a block wide of grounded space, and the rest would be filled with sand that will sink you further into embarrassment.

Why are you so embarrassed?

Everything feels so hot, correct? The sand would be worse, don't you think?

The space would be filled with grass and leaves, but they never change.

You can step on them if you'd like, so you will, but never passing into the ominous beige surrounding the playground.  
You maintain an empty gate, but no visitors ever come.

Usually.

“Hello?” You would say to the passersby.

You hesitate, ~~they notice~~.

“Please let me in, I'll give you what you need! Someone to talk to, someone to share, and someone to love! You'll need it, right?”

You nod, but why do you nod?  
Your stomach aches with uncertainty, but you grant them access.  
Somehow the leaves start to wilt.  
~~They notice~~.

You panic.

“I'll give you all of my adoration,” the pedestrian speaks, “I will give you enough hopeful promises to live 9 lives, and I will sing you a plethora of praise, every single day.”

Your ego gives in.

“Do you like me?”

The leaves melted.  
~~They notice~~.  
“Do you love me?”

And your playground shifts into the ominous beige of suffocating sand.  
“Do you love me?”

“Do you love me?”

 

“Do you love me?”

 

“Do you love me?”

 

“...”

 

“You don't love me?” Said the passerby.

 

The stranger dissolved into the mush of grains, but you were still intact.  
You are doomed to sit in this scorching sand for a century, possibly many hours on top of that.  
You lower your head down for half of the days allotted.

There is never a past tense, future, nor present. Language doesn't seem to matter when an acidic dust blazes over your eyes.

It just stings, you may cry.  
Did you cry?  
Will you cry?

Can you love?  
Will you love?

Have you ever… loved?

Everything will happen at once, and never at all. So why does it matter to you, why does it matter to everyone? You don't understand?

Figure it out before your century has passed.

 

 

“I'll sit here.” you said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Your shoulder grazes thick metal.

 

Another playground, with swings similar to yours.

 

You knock upon another’s gate.  
“Hello?” You spoke.

 

 

“Nice to meet you.” Said the residence.

 

 

You smile.

 

"Come in." She said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The leaves never wilted.


End file.
